I used to breed and hand-rear parrots. I had 37 at one point. At the time, I could take the babies to work in a shoe box as they needed feeding every couple of hours day and night.
My favourite was a red headed conure. He’d go everywhere with me. In the car, in my pocket, on my shoulder. Even slept on the end of my bed. He was very clean and only pooped when I lifted him over a bin or ashtray. We moved to SE London on a Monday and burgled on the Wednesday. They took all my parrots except my favourite. But they tried to get him with towels and our duvet. He must have really fought the burglar off, as feathers were everywhere.
He was never the same after that. He would attack anybody who stood or sat near me. I gave him to a pet shop as the shop bird. He was traumatised.